Page 69 of The Long Road Back to Yesterday

Mr. Radcliff offered his compliments, but Elizabeth listened for only one voice.

“Exquisite.”

One word from Mr. Darcy, but it said everything. She lifted her head and met his eyes. For a moment, they might have been the only two people in the room, and she felt as though she had known him all her life.

Georgiana broke the spell. “Lizzy, play us another.”

“Let us hear Fair Annie, my girl,” Mr. Gardiner added. “It is my favorite.”

“Uncle, you wish to bring us all down this morning. We shall have to end with something to raise our spirits. Perhaps an Irish air.”

Elizabeth began the ballad. The music, even more than the words, conveyed abandonment, humiliation, grief, and betrayal. Elizabeth sang the lyrics that recounted how fair Annie had borne her lord seven sons and carried his eighth child, only to learn that he meant to bring home another woman as his bride, whom Annie must prepare for and welcome.

The final words hung in the air as Elizabeth ended the ballad. “Fair Annie took out her virginals, and, sadly did she play.”

When Elizabeth had finished, her gaze fell upon her young friend, who held a handkerchief to her eyes.

Georgiana had been especially touched by the song. Elizabeth did not wait for the applause to subside before beginning The Lass of Richmond Hill, singing the bright, affectionate English love song with all the spirit she could summon. She followed it with The Blue Bells of Scotland, and by the time she finished, the young girl had recovered herself.

Elizabeth rose and extended an inviting hand. “Come, Georgiana. Shall I show you my books?”

Georgiana sprang to her feet and took her friend’s arm. They crossed to the far end of the parlor and settled into adjacent chairs. Elizabeth offered her the books one by one, opening each to the illustrations that most delighted her.

“See here. This illustration is most like the henge. Whenever I look upon it, I shall be standing atop that limestone again, looking out over that grand monument.”

Mr. Darcy joined them but did not take a chair. He stood behind them, looking over their shoulders and listening to Elizabeth’s enthusiasm. From time to time, she raised her eyes to include him and found his expression earnest.

She fell deeper into his thrall. There could be no going back. Whatever happened between them, she knew her feelings for him had deepened beyond mere attraction, even if nothing could ever come of their acquaintance. She would never again be the girl who had traveled to Derbyshire. She would be a woman haunted by those dark eyes, those beautiful brows, and the affection she believed she had glimpsed within them.

* * *

Before long, Mr. Darcy took the third chair. Elizabeth’s notebook lay open upon the table, and he read the entries on the page. There were only three.

The first briefly recounted the disappearance of a farmer upon the moor on December 21, 1710. His belongings had later been found within the stone circle at Arbor Low. The book and page were entered in the last column.

Darcy raised a brow. He had never encountered this account. Might he one day discover human bones in the woods or upon the open moor surrounding Arbor Low? After a hundred years, they might lie buried beneath the earth, but surely they would not have entirely decayed.

He read the second account. Another disappearance. What was it about tales of missing persons that so engaged this lovely young scholar? This one, dated December 21, 1722, concerned a drunken farmer who had vanished.

Darcy raised his brow again. More bones?

The last account concerned a grieving woman who disappeared on December 21, 1740. No book appeared in the references column. Instead, Mrs. Gardiner’s name was listed. The entry came from an oral account related by the daughter of one of Dr. Wynn’s patients.

His eyes drifted to where Mrs. Gardiner sat with her sister. She was a sensible woman, but his father had never spoken of a woman’s remains being discovered near Arbor Low. Surely, if a body had been found during his grandfather’s lifetime, the account would have passed through the family. His curiosity stirred.

His gaze returned to the beauty seated across the table from him. Everything about her was entrancing, from her lovely face and pleasing figure to her resonant soprano and quick mind. And still she was concerned with disappearances. Was she so absorbed in the mysteries of the past that she had begun to believe in the darker tales of this world?

When there was a pause in the conversation, Darcy asked about the disappearances.

Color rose in Miss Elizabeth’s face, and her eyes shuttered. She glanced away, plainly disconcerted. Was she hiding something from him?

She raised her eyes to meet his and began to explain. He was taken with her lovely mouth, her full lips and finely shaped jaw. His gaze traveled upward. This woman had the finest eyes he had ever beheld, framed by dark, curling lashes. She bewitched him, body and soul.

Her color deepened, and Darcy shifted. He had been staring, and now she appeared more unsettled than before. He looked away, and his gaze fell again upon her notes. Her hand was precise, elegant. He touched the quill, then raised his eyes as she spoke.

* * *

Elizabeth drew a breath and glanced at her young friend, who waited to hear what she would say. She could hardly confess that she hoped to find a way back to an earlier time, when her world had been orderly, her sisters safe at home, and her parents alive and well.